Pressure
by IndestructibleDreams
Summary: PostTheFix. Claire has met her birth mother with disastrous results: Her birth father is dead and she wants nothing to do with Claire. This, on top of the lies from her father, make Claire run to the only place she thinks she can be safe: New York.AUPaire
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hey everyone! This is my first Heroes fanfic, so don't be too harsh. Hope you all enjoy it! It is an AU fic; Claire is not Nathan's daughter, and she's eighteen. PostTheFix.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or anything related to Heroes; I'm but a lowly fan writing a story.

Pressure  
_by IndestructibleDreams_

**Claire Bennet  
Odessa, Texas**

Claire Bennet paced. She was worried and she was scared, but she knew what she was doing was right. Her house was empty; Lyle, her mother, and her father were at the hospital, her mother having another appointment with the neurologist. She had a good two hours at her disposal to get everything together and get out of the house.

A plain white canvas duffel lay open on her bed, still empty. All of her dresser drawers had been thrown open, allowing her the quick choice of clothing she would bring with her. Her toothbrush, hair brush, and perfume sat in zip-lock bags next to the duffel. Those would go in last. Shaking her head, she emptied a drawer full of socks and underwear into the bag, followed by jeans, simple cotton t-shirts, and a few pairs of pajamas. She didn't need to pack heavy. She just needed to pack and go.

She slung the bag over her shoulder and descended down the stairs. Her Sidekick was safely tucked into an inner pocket of her light blue zip-up hoodie, along with a hundred and fifty dollars. She didn't know how long it would have to last her. She wasn't sure of anything at the moment.

With one last goodbye to her house, Claire turned and left, locking the door behind her.

----------

The blonde's eyes fluttered open as the early morning sun streamed in through the Greyhound window. It was only about six a.m., and Claire had been on the bus since leaving her house in Odessa the day before. She only had so much money saved up, and needed to save as much as she could, just in case. A Greyhound ticket was much cheaper than a plane ticket to New York. She sat up, cracking her neck. Sleeping on a bus wasn't fun. It didn't help that her stomach was growling from hunger, and she was still scared out of her mind. She couldn't trust her father right now, and had to leave. Odessa didn't feel safe anymore. Claire didn't feel safe anymore. She rubbed sleep out of her eyes and curled her legs underneath her indian-style. Pulling her Sidekick out of her pocket, she flipped it open. She had twelve missed calls, all from home. But she wouldn't return the call. She wouldn't let anything, any indication of where she was going slip.

There was only one person that Claire Bennet felt she could trust, and she was running straight to him. Claire only hoped that Peter Petrelli remembered who the hell she was.

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**Peter Petrelli  
Manhattan, New York**

His mind had been jumbled since he had awoken from the coma. The last waking thought he had was diving five stories off of a stadium to protect…_her._ Claire was her name. The cheerleader. _Save the cheerleader, save the world.  
_

So many dreams. _Premonitions, _he thought to himself. New York blowing up…because of him. Peter was the exploding man. It had repeated so many times in his head he had every tiny detail memorized. He knew that unless he learned to control the power, come November Eighth, Peter Petrelli was going up in smoke, and New York was coming with him.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face; he was sure that purple bags drooped underneath his eyes, and his face was stubbly. It was then and there that he decided that he couldn't just sit and ponder on this. He had to do something. _Anything._

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**Claire Bennet  
Entering New York**

Nineteen hours and counting. Nineteen hours since Claire Bennet left Odessa. Nineteen hours she had been on this Godforsaken bus. She had been in the same outfit – blue jeans, pink Nike Shox, a plain white cotton t-shirt, and her blue zip-up hoodie for two days. She had pulled her blonde waves up into a pony tail that morning, having not washed it since the morning she left. She was exhausted; she couldn't afford a hotel room during their night-long stopover in Virginia. She had just stayed on the bus, napping on and off in the stiff seat.

Each minute she was on the bus her heart broke a little more. She wanted so badly to call her parents, tell them that everything was okay, but another part of her never wanted to speak to her father again. She wasn't even sure if her mother would remember her. Lyle probably didn't even care. The only thing that was currently looking bright for her were the skyscrapers in the distance; she was finally in New York.

She looked at her hand; a scrap of paper with messy writing was enclosed in it. Before leaving for home, Peter had scribbled his phone number and address down, just in case she needed anything. _Probably just being nice…_Claire thought. It wouldn't have surprised her if he turned her away at the door. She wanted to call him, to tell him that she was coming, but she couldn't. She couldn't risk it. What she was sure was an irrational fear haunted her thoughts now; what if her father had somehow tapped her cell phone? What if he found out where she was going? No, she just couldn't risk it.

Claire sighed and rested her head on the seat. It would be another forty minutes before they reached their final destination and she could finally look for Peter. Her eyes closed, and the events of the past two weeks came rushing back to her once again. Sylar, Jackie's death, Peter's heroic acts. She also thought of her father's lies; all of those lies she had been fed since she was young. She honestly wanted to accept her father's apologies this time, to believe him once more, but she couldn't do it. She had a strange feeling at the pit of her stomach that her father would end up hurting her far worse than this.

Her birth mother had also been a source of stress for the young cheerleader. Meredith Gordon was…nice, but obviously didn't want to get to know her long lost daughter. All she told Claire was that she was a fire starter, and that her father was dead. He had been in the apartment fire with the two of them, but he was the only one that didn't make it out. After only two visits, Meredith had told Claire that she was going back to Mexico, where she had retreated for so many years, and that Claire shouldn't contact her.

She was shaken from her thoughts when the bus came to a halt. She had apparently been deeper in her thoughts than expected. She offered a smile to the bus driver as she exited, canvas bag slung over her shoulder, tired eyes downcast. The Greyhound station was located right in the heart of New York City. With one look around, Claire decided that she was already hopelessly lost. She had never been to New York, let alone by herself. But she wouldn't let this get in her way. _Stay calm, Claire. Just step inside that store and ask for directions. It can't be that far away._

And she did just that. A convenience store was right next to the Greyhound station, and she walked right in, showed the clerk Peter's address, and they pointed her in the right direction. It was only about a mile away, nearly a straight shot from where she was. It was a warm day for October, and Claire would enjoy the walk. She set out from the station, hands tucked into her hoodie pockets. Her eyes were kept downcast as she walked the mile trek to Peter's apartment complex. Deciding to move her phone and money into her bag, she pulled them out of her pocket.

But before she could slip them into her canvas duffel, something solid, yet invisible ran directly into her; she was caught off guard and fell to the ground. While it was true that any cut or bruise she may have received from the fall would heal nearly instantly, it didn't help her pride any to seemingly just fall in the middle of a crowded street.

Worse yet, when she went to get up, her money was gone.

She couldn't decide whether or not she wanted to curse or cry. But as her trek continued on to Peter's apartment, the waterworks started. A few fat tears made their way down her bronzed cheeks at first, and by the time she reached his building, she was full out sobbing. Another tearful glance at the paper in her hands told her to head to room 303; there was no elevator in the shabby old apartment building, so she slowly traveled up the stairs three flights, and found his apartment easily. As she reached his door, she sucked up her sobbing and wiped the tears off of her face, and reached up with one tiny hand, knocking lightly on the door.

Footsteps were heard inside, followed by the door creaking open. And there was Peter Petrelli, in all of his Italian, awkward glory.

"I…I'm sorry to just burst in on you like this," Claire began, trying her hardest to keep her voice from cracking. The pressure from the past weeks was finally catching up to her, and she almost felt like all she could do right now was cry. "I don't know if you even remember…"

"Claire, come in." Peter said gently, touching the blonde's elbow. And that was when she lost it again. He pulled her inside of the apartment, took her bag from her and sat it on the floor, and led her over to the couch. He sat down first and she sat next to him, and he automatically pulled her into a hug, comforting the small girl. She buried her face into his chest and let out all of her emotions, sobbing hopelessly like a child.

"I'm so sorry," She sniffed through her tears. "For not calling, just showing up. I just…I didn't know where else to go." Her sobs finally subsided once more, and she shyly looked at Peter. She had convinced herself that he was going to hand her bag right back to her and tell her to leave.

He smiled at her, reaching to her cheek and brushing her tears away. "You're welcome here, Claire. Always."

****


	2. Chapter 2

Pressure  
_by IndestructibleDreams_

Chapter Two

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**Claire Bennet and Peter Petrelli  
Manhattan, New York**

Claire had finally calmed down. Evening was approaching, and Claire had already changed into a tank top and a pair of pajama pants. She had been going, going, going for nearly twenty hours, and she wanted nothing more than to relax. She took a moment to glance around Peter's apartment while he was in the kitchen; his apartment was large, with high ceilings, but he kept it simple. A dark blue couch and armchair, a coffee table, a couple of lamps, and a television were the only things in the living room. She could see back into his bedroom from the living room – it was just as simple. Large, plain bed, bedside table, one small lamp. She also saw a bookshelf stacked high with thick novels. The apartment was an old one, she could tell by the aged wooden door, with its peeling paint, and the equally aged and scathed wooden floor. 

"Here," Peter's voice was as gentle as his eyes as he handed her a warm mug. Without giving whatever liquid it was a moment to cool, Claire brought the mug up to her lips and took a sip. Hot chocolate. It was burning hot, but Claire couldn't feel the heat. She offered him a forced smile before sitting the mug down on the table beside her. He looked equally as tired as she felt. Her eyes drifted again, meeting the blue of the couch. She didn't know where to start. Peter deserved an explanation as to why she was there, but the words were backed up in her throat. 

"I didn't know where to go," She began. Her voice was meek, so unlike Claire. Her eyes wouldn't meet his, but stayed glued to the couch. "This whole time my dad's been lying to me. My entire life. I can't trust him anymore. After Jackie died, when you saved me, he had some…man…erase my best friend and my brother's memories. Mom's too. Dad sent him to wipe mine, too, but he didn't. I just…I don't understand any of it," Claire's eyes narrowed in concentration, and her face finally tilted up, meeting Peter's. "I hated lying to my father about my memory. I hated playing dumb. At least I did until I thought more and more about how long _he_ had been lying to me, and I just got so angry." Once she started the words wouldn't stop.

"I found her, too. My birth mother." She nodded slightly, mostly to herself. "She lived about two hours away from me. I tried to…I guess make a relationship with her. I wanted to know her," Claire looked up now, her eyes meeting Peter's. "The only things she told me were that my birth father is dead, she's a fire starter, that she was going back to Mexico, and that I shouldn't call her anymore."

Peter reached to her, his hand resting on the crook of her elbow comfortingly. Since Homecoming, he had been faced with equally as many troubles; the haunting nightmares, the lack of support from Nathan, and the constant worry that he was going to destroy New York City.

"You've been through a lot, for somebody so young." The twenty-six year old's eyes held more wisdom than any normal man his age. Most Peter-aged guys were only worried about their next business move, how many women they could pick up at the bar. Not Peter, though. No, Peter had real concerns, real worries.

And one of Peter's main concerns was keeping Claire Bennet safe.

_Save the cheerleader, save the world._

He took that extremely seriously. Claire would have died the night of her Homecoming had Peter not sacrificed himself for her – luckily he had adapted her regenerative powers, and lived to see the days ahead. Claire hadn't been absent from his thoughts since that night in Odessa – she had been there in his nightmarish coma-induced dreams, and she had been an ever-present staple in his day-to-day thoughts.

Apparently he had been in her thoughts as well.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the tiny eighteen-year-old. She seemed vulnerable, even through her invincibility. He could see her heart breaking right in front of his eyes, and this made his heart go out to her. She was young and confused, and had no where else to turn but to him. He was her hero, and he felt good about that. She needed him now more than anyone or anything had ever needed him.

A soft smile crossed his features as he pulled her closer to him, wrapping her in a gentle hug. She seemed to collapse against him, the exhaustion and confusion of the last few weeks washing over her. She buried her face in his chest, her legs tucked underneath her.

"You have nothing to worry about, Claire. You're safe here."

----------

**The Bennet Family  
Odessa, Texas**

"She's gone."

Lyle's words were crushing to hear. He and his parents had been at the hospital for the better part of the afternoon, a very trying experience, only to come home and find Claire missing. Only a simple note was left: _'I'm safe. Don't call.'_

Her mother didn't understand. Lyle seemed indifferent to the situation. But he knew. Her father knew exactly why Claire had ran. And, contrary to what Claire believed, he knew where she was running to.

_Stay calm, she'll be fine._

His command to his wife and son had been simple. They were to act as if nothing was wrong. He promised to have Claire home within the next two days.

Locked away in his home office, he flipped the cell phone open, dialing the familiar number of his New York colleague.

"Simone," His greeting was simple. "Claire is missing."

The woman on the other end of the line had secretly been working for 'Primatech' for nearly as long as he had been. On the outside, though, she was simply Simone Deveaux, art dealer, daughter of Charles Deveaux. Her assignments had been simple throughout the years; to become romantically linked to as many of _them_ as possible. Her two most notable assignments were Isaac Mendez and Peter Petrelli.

She did her job quite well, if she did say so herself. Isaac had fallen in love with her almost instantly, and she had received close to the same result from Peter. They spilled everything to her; Isaac's incredible ability to paint future happenings, and Peter…dear, sweet Peter, who adapted the abilities of the _others_ he was around.

That included Claire Bennet.

"Not to worry. She'll be found." Simone's reply was equally as simple, before closing the phone.

It was lucky for her that Peter Petrelli was wrapped around her little finger. Or so she thought.

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**Author's Note:** Yay, the story is starting to pick up some steam! Thanks to all of my reviewers so far – **ms.renziie-, XunspokendisasterX, Arianette, TrueNightingale, dtng4ever, and SkyRogue.** You guys really made my day when I saw the reviews! Anyway, leave me some love and tell me what you're thinking so far, and what you'd like to see go on – I love getting feedback from all of my readers!

-ID


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